


Heaven Upside Down

by highlightcity_159



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker waxing poetical about Nile, Established Relationship, F/M, Nile Week 2020, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlightcity_159/pseuds/highlightcity_159
Summary: Nile asks for something Booker is more than happy to provide.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 45
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is inspired by Hô Xuân Huong's "Spring-Watching Pavillion".
> 
> Please be kind, this is my first fic.

Booker is enjoying his afternoon leisurely reading Hô Xuân Huong’s poetry in the cozy, small living room of their 3-bedroom safe house in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Andy, Quynh, Joe, and Nicky were spending the afternoon in Ninh Binh. He and Nile decided to hang back and rest after a morning spent scouting out businesses they suspected were fronts for criminal activity as part of their current job to dismantle a major sex trafficking ring headquartered in Northern Vietnam. A noise off to the right makes Booker look up from his book. Stumbling out of the bunk room they shared and rubbing the sleep blearily from her eyes, Nile had apparently woken up from her afternoon nap. She looks so young in her too large shirt hiding most of her too short shorts, box braids haphazardly falling out of the bun she’d but them in. Her large t-shirt was definitely one of Nicky’s. He had a soft spot for cheesy dad t-shirts that Nile indulged at every opportunity. Today’s sleep shirt was dark green and read “It’s not a Dad Bod, It’s a Father Figure”, a personal favorite of Joe’s.

“Enjoy your nap?” He asks with smile as Nile enters the open communal space eyes still half closed. She hums at him, not quite ready to speak. While Nile is a morning person, usually up with Nicky making breakfast or going on 3-mile runs, she wakes up from naps the same way Joe wakes up from sleep, which is to say groggy and easily enticed back to bed. 

She pulls the book out of his hand, tucking the bookmark into the section he had been reading and placing it off to the side, before climbing into his lap. Her right arm comes up to wrap around his neck while her left hand unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt so she can worm her face into the warmth where his neck and collarbone met. 

“I’m horny.” She murmurs into his neck absentmindedly playing with the chain that holds his old wedding ring. 

“Oh?” He keeps his voice low, sliding his left hand under her t-shirt to feel her sleep warm skin. 

“I had a good dream.” 

“What about?” She looks up at him with a sly smile on her face. He braces himself for her next words.That smile always spells trouble for him; sometimes good trouble, sometimes bad trouble but always trouble. 

“You wanted to see how many times I could come.” Booker is definitely onboard with this line of thinking. They haven't been intimate since arriving in Hanoi eight days ago, between the mission prep and the tiny twin beds in their room there hadn’t been time or space. 

“Yeah?”

“On your tongue.” 

“Merde.” A sharp stab of want hits him square in the abdomen and his dick, which was already interested with a horny and sleep-warm Nile in his lap, catapults to fully hard so fast he feels lightheaded. 

This thing between them is still new and they are taking it slow. Well as slow as she would allow, which in all honesty wasn’t very slow at all. They had time. Booker was already in love with Nile, had been for years, but he wanted to prove to her and himself that he was worthy of her love and kindness. Nile, whose compassion meant that in spite of his exile she never abandoned him but whose competence and self-respect meant she did not suffer fools, himself included. Over the years she’d become his North Star pointing him forwards no matter how lost he got in the dark. And like the great travelers of history both real and literary who spent lifetimes attempting to unravel the unfathomable night sky that guided them around the world he wanted to spend his many lifetimes learning and memorizing her. He was spending to much time with Joe if he was allowing his brain to runaway on such romantic epithets. 

Focusing back on the beauty in his lap, he asks, “Would you like that?” He aches to spend an afternoon focused purely on her and her pleasure but he understands that just because you dream about something doesn’t necessarily mean you want it to happen in reality. 

She sits up in order to look him directly in the eyes and kisses him. It is thorough and heated. She presses forward, her right hand pulling gently at the hair on his crown, tilting his head so she can lick further into his mouth. It is slick and wet and Booker feels the blood in his veins burn as he lets her have her way with him. He moves both his hands down her back, fingers sliding under the waistband of her shorts to play with the elastic of her underwear. He wants so desperately to lay her out and feast. To provide this pleasure and prove to her how good he could be to her, for her, even though he knows nothing will ever sate the thirst she stirs up in him. He feels owned and claimed, overwhelmed in the best way by the fierceness of her lust. 

He is dazed as she pulls back from him, his eyes blinking unseeingly as his brain tries to get back online. She responds to his earlier question with a smug “Duh.” 

“Imp,” he responds with a nip at her jaw before standing abruptly. Nile shrieks clinging to his neck and wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. He laughs, walking them to their room at the back of the house and shutting the door with his foot. He has work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes & Translations **
> 
> Hô Xuân Huong was a Vietnamese poet who used risqué subject matter to discuss social, religious, and political commentary. Booker is reading _Spring Essence: The Poetry of Hô Xuân Huong_. 
> 
> “Merde" - “Shit” in French.


	2. Chapter 2

Nile is propped up on the bottom bunk so she can see Booker where he sits on the floor between her legs. He presses teasing kisses up her right leg beginning at her ankle, through the musculature of her calfs, spending longer than necessary tonguing at the sensitive skin behind her knee before continuing his feast onto her thick thigh. Her left leg hangs limply over his right shoulder having already received the same intense treatment. She feels like a live wire, abuzz with frustration the longer he teases her. 

“Sébastien,” she whines as he skips over her heat for the third time, trying to push his head back towards where her body needs him most.

“Oui, de quoi avez-vous besoin?” He is hovering over her watching with that annoying self-satisfied smirk. 

“Kiss me!” She grips his hair tightly and watches in smug satisfaction as his eyes flutter at the roughness. Her hair is usually off limits during sex but his is hardwired to his dick and Nile takes special pride in mussing it up whenever she can. He gives in finally and the first swipe of his tongue sends her reeling. Her whimpers spur Booker into a frenzy and he kisses and licks at Nile until she spills over tightening her hold on his hair. She relaxes slowly, her body unfurling and muscles loosening. 

She opens her eyes to find him watching her, beard glistening as he licks his lips. Her stomach clenches at the fire in his gaze. _This man_. 

She taps out after nine orgasms. Body clean but exhausted she lays a top his bed, nose buried in his pillow. Booker watches from his place the floor with an expression he knows is a cross between arrogant and lovesick. She is wearing one of his t-shirts, which is riding up to reveal the delicious thickness of her thigh and bare ass cheek. She prefers thongs, utilitarian ones usually in browns or blacks because of the flexibility. Booker prefers her in thongs because of the unfettered access he has to the stretch marks that start at her hipbones and run across each cheek and down her upper thigh like tiger stripes. They haunted his fantasies for years the first time he had see her in a swimsuit, long legs and powerful thighs with those stretch marks cut off by the fuchsia pink of her bikini bottoms. He spent a lazy morning a few weeks ago tracing every stretch mark on her body with his tongue and then repeating the process with soft kisses and bites, fulfilling dozens of fantasies and dreaming up dozens more. They’d both been so keyed up by the time he was finished that their coupling had ended explosively after only a few thrusts. 

“You’re going to be insufferable about this aren’t you.” He knows he hasn't been able to lose his smug smile, but nine orgasms in less than two hours is good, really good. He's glad that no one else had been home, especially for that last orgasm. She wasn’t normally loud during sex but as she crested on oragasm number nine she had screamed, thighs clenching painfully around his head and feet pressing into his trapezius, before promptly blacking out. 

“Bien sûr, ma chérie. Why should I not be smug about the pleasure I give you?” She rolls her eyes but the smile on her face lets him know she approves. She loves when he is confident in their love. 

“I’m tired,” she yawns, curling further into his t-shirt. “Go do something productive and let me sleep." 

“Very well.” Booker leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. And then because he can't resist temptation Booker presses a gentle kiss to her thigh. And then another longer kiss. And then another kiss, tonguing at the soft skin there. He would’ve continued and likely tried to entice her into orgasm number ten but she pushes his head away. 

“Booker,” she whines. “You can’t be serious. There’s no way I’m coming again.” Booker raises his eyebrow. “No, that’s not an invitation for you to try.”

“You make me insatiable. I don’t think I could ever have my fill of you.” He shrugs. He is not embarrassed by how much he wants her nor by how much he enjoys bringing her pleasure. 

Her face softens. She leans her head up towards him and he meets her halfway in a whisper of a kiss, like a lullaby to rock her to bed with his love. She pulls away with a murmured, “I love you. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you. It has been and will continue to be my pleasure.” He presses one last soft kiss to her thigh before getting up to let her sleep. All that exposed skin will tempt him into another round of lovemaking and he knows she is sleepy. He grabs a pair of pants on his way out of the room, turning the light off as he closes the door. 

He pulls his jeans on over his briefs as he scans the room for his phone. He isn't exactly sure what time it is but Nicky was supposed to text him when the others were heading back. He finds his phone on the kitchen counter, lit up with a notification from Nicky. They would be back in an hour or so, just enough time for him to make dinner. 

He gets lost in the process of cooking, music playing softly as he moves around the kitchen. He doesn’t cook often. But when the mood strikes him he enjoys showing off; reminding everyone that while Nicky may have 800 years on him, Booker is French and has devoted his free time over the last few centuries to learning and perfecting every French recipe he can get his hands on. Today’s dinner is Basque Pipérade with duck eggs they picked up at the market earlier that week. Booker enjoys the process of chopping, sautéing, and stirring. Cooking requires a certain degree of concentration that allows him to clear his mind of distracting, intrusive thoughts and focus on something fulfilling. The music helps as well. This specific playlist is one he curated with Nicky and features operatic love arias mostly in Italian and French. Booker sings along softly letting the music and food buoy his good mood. 

An hour later the house is filled with the smell of bread and thick tomato sauce. Nile emerges from their bedroom, fully dressed this time in dark blue linen pants and a white shirt that shows off a hint of navy lace from her bralette. Her hair is twisted more securely into a bun, exposing the elegant column of her neck and the gold cross she never goes without. She sidles up to him leaning up to kiss his neck, just behind his ear. It’s a sensitive spot that sends shivers down his spine. He tilts his head allowing her space to press more soft kisses along his neck and jaw as he continues singing Nero’s part of Pur ti miro from Monteverdi’s “The Coronation of Poppea”. After her thorough perusal of his jaw and neck, Nile maneuvers herself between his arms to meet his lips in a kiss. He sings through her kisses. 

“…pur ti godo…pur t’annodo…pur ti stringo...più non moro...più non peno…o mia vita, o mio tesoro...tuo son io...dillo dì…tu sei pur…l’idol mio...sì mio cor, mia vita, sì, sì, mio ben, mia vita, sì, sì, sì, sì.” He presses a kiss to her eyes, nose, and lips after each si before repeating the first ostinato. "…pur ti godo…pur t’annodo…pur ti stringo...più non moro...più non peno…o mia vita, o mio tesoro.” He finishes with a flourish that rings throughout the house.

Booker turns back to Nile and his breath catches at the unadulterated adoration in her eyes. And he realizes he hasn’t been this happy in nearly three centuries. He fights the urge to pull away. He’s been getting better at not shrinking under the weight of her love. He would rather endure this agony of overwhelming happiness than to ever disappoint the woman in his arms. And that’s what this is, agony in being happy because you know you almost missed this opportunity and because you know, when you lose this happiness your life will only be agony again.

“Which opera is this from?” She is practically fluent in Italian but still struggles with the long melodic annunciations of opera. He doesn’t mind. He loves whispering translations into her ears, tickling her skin with words of lust and love, as she watches his favorite operas in awe. 

“The Coronation of Poppea. You remember we saw it in Milan a few months ago.” Booker gives in to the urge to kiss her, grateful that he doesn’t have to suppress it anymore. 

“Hmmm, the song must be from after the intermission because I don't remember much after Act II.” 

“Why is that?” He presses another kiss to her before she answers. He knows why. 

“Because you fingered me in an alcove by the bathrooms during intermission and when we returned to our seats, me decidedly unsatisfied, you proceeded to tease me for the rest of the opera.” He remembers that night. She had looked beautiful in a pink Atelier Versace gown which clung to her and highlighted the richness of her skin. One look at her as she exited her bedroom and he had almost been tempted into staying home. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything because the asymmetrical neckline of the dress showed off her toned arms and beautiful shoulders. He would lean over to translate a line for her and then get distracted by the intoxicating aroma of her perfume and the delicate strength of her collarbone. Halfway through Act I, he gave up the plot and rained kisses down on the curve of her neck and shoulder barely listening to the words of one of his favorite operas. By intermission he had worked them both into a frenzy. The look on her face as he’d pulled away right before her orgasm because the show was restarting promised retribution. And retribution she gave him that night riding his cock to her own completion three times before letting him come. That had been a good day.

While he’s distracted she reaches a hand out to grab a piece of sliced baguette, perfectly browned from the oven. Booker slaps her hand with the hand towel on his shoulder.

“Not fair. You know how I feel about bread, especially French bread.” 

“No. You have to wait until—” before he can finish the front door burst open as Nicky, Joe, Andy, and Quynh noisily return from their trip to Ninh Binh. While Booker is distracted by the commotion, Nile grabs a piece of bread winking at him when he realizes what she’s done. 

“What smells so good?” Joe yells shouldering past the others to take a peak at what’s cooking. 

“Nile, did you cook?” Nicky asks smacking Joe’s hand before he can dip his finger into the pan on the stove. 

Nile shakes her head pointing at Booker through a mouthful of bread. She reaches out for another piece of bread but Booker grabs her wrist. 

“Arrête ça,” he says with a glare before turning to Nicky. “I cooked; Basque Pipérade with those duck eggs we got from the market the other day.” 

“Someone must be in a good mood.” Andy says bumping shoulders with Booker before handing a bag full of souvenirs to Nile. 

“What do you mean?”

“You only cook for us when you’re happy.” Joe mutters trying to wiggle out of Nicky’s grip to taste the food. Booker covers the Pipérade and slides the bread into a basket to prevent wandering hands from ruining the meal.

“I don’t only cook for you all when I’m happy.” 

“You definitely do Book,” Andy says. Booker’s about to argue against their claims when Nile interrupts. 

“That’s not true,” Nile defends, temporarily forgetting about her bag of souvenirs to extol Booker’s virtue. “He used to cook for me all the time when I would secretly visit him during his exile. And everything he made was delicious ” 

“It wasn’t really a secret,” Andy interrupts turning towards the stairs at the back of the house. 

“And I’m not sure that disproves Andy’s original statement, em gái.” Quynh drops a kiss to Nile’s cheek, physically affectionate with Nile in ways she isn’t with the others, and grabs the basket of bread out of Bookers hands. “Come now, let’s go up to the terrace to eat.” 

Nile easily distracted by food, especially after sex follows the other women upstairs to the terrace. Nicky follows behind having grabbed plates and utensils. Booker grabs the pan and turns to Joe asking him to grab drinks but stops at the look on his face. 

“You have a good afternoon? Do anything other than read?”

“Don’t start.” 

“It was an honest question Habibi,” Joe replies heading towards the stairs with a pitcher water and six pack beer from the fridge. The others are already chatting loudly from the terrace, Nile likely interrogating them about their trip. 

“I don’t really cook for you only when I’m happy, do I?” Booker asks pausing at the top of the stairs, battling with the insecurity that threatens to ruin a perfectly good evening.

“Yeah, but it’s not a bad thing.” Joe soothes recognizing the tone of Bookers voice. “It’s a treat Booker, for us to know that you’re happy. And a gift that you share this happiness with us through your food.”

Booker watches Nile giddily pull out the souvenirs, smiling full and bright her skin aglow under the dusk sky. Her eyes glance up to meet his and her smile grows wider as she tells him to hurry up with her food. He thinks back to two lines from the last poem he’d read by Hô Xuân Huong before his afternoon _excursions_ ;

Love’s vast sea cannot be emptied.  
And springs of grace flow easily everywhere. 

Where is nirvana?  
Nirvana is here, nine times out of ten.

* * *

At dinner the conversation eventually returns to why Booker is so happy and because she’s been spending too much time around Quynh who finds pleasure in sowing seeds of chaos and because she likes the way he flushes under the attention, Nile says it’s because he’d made her come nine times. Joe, who has unfortunately just taken a sip of bai hoi, chokes spraying both his and Nicky’s half-eaten plates with beer. Andy curses loudly before handing a wad of cash to Quynh, who then hands half the pile to Nile while Andy stares on incredulously. Nile looks up and winks at Booker while putting the cash in her back pocket. Andy, now realizing that Quynh and Nile have somehow cheated her out of a large sum of money, gets up. Nile darts around the table attempting to take cover behind Joe and Nicky. Nile pulls Nicky out of his seat to use as a shield. Taking advantage of Nicky’s immensely protectiveness of her to act as a well between herself and Andy. Joe isn’t helping the chaos by simultaneously berating and praising Bookers sexual process, caught somewhere between protective big brother and proud best friend. Quynh laughs as Nile begins pleading with Andy still tucked behind Nicky as Andy grabs the nearest weapon, the empty water pitcher to brandish threateningly at Nile. Booker smiles at what is turning out to be another crazy evening with his family. He wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes & Translations: **
> 
> “Oui, de quoi avez-vous besoin?” - “Yes, what do you need?” in French. 
> 
> "Bien sûr, ma chérie...” - “Of course, my dear…” in French. 
> 
> Basque Pipérade is a dish from French Basque Country prepared with onion, green peppers, and tomatoes. Here’s a link to how I believe Booker would prepare this dish -  
> https://curedbybacon.wordpress.com/2013/09/03/basque-piperade-with-fresh-eggs/
> 
>  _The Coronation of Poppea_ by Monteverdi is an Italian opera details the story of Poppea, mistress of Roman emperor Nero, and her rise to empresses. Pur ti miro is the final number of the opera, a duet performed by the two lovers, Nero and Poppea. For more - opera-arias.com/monteverdi/l'-incoronazione-di-poppea/pur-ti-miro/
> 
> “…pur ti godo…pur t’annodo…pur ti stringo...più non moro...più non peno…o mia vita, o mio tesoro...tuo son io...dillo dì…tu sei pur…l’idol mio...sì mio cor, mia vita, sì, sì, mio ben, mia vita, sì, sì, sì, sì.” - “…I tighten closer to you…I am bound to you…I delight in you…I no longer die…Oh my life, o my treasure…You are mine…say it…You are mine…My idol…yes my heart, my life, yes, yes, my love, my life, yes, yes, yes, yes.” in Italian. 
> 
> Kiki Layne in Atelier Versace - https://www.redcarpet-fashionawards.com/2019/02/25/kiki-layne-in-atelier-versace-2019-oscars/
> 
> “Arrête ça” - “Stop it” in French. 
> 
> "...em gái.” - “...dear.” in Vietnamese. Term of endearment for a little sister. 
> 
> “…Habibi” - “…my love” in Arabic. Term of endearment for friends, family, or significant others. 
> 
> “Spring-Watching Pavillion” by Hô Xuân Huong
> 
> A gentle spring evening arrives  
> airily, unclouded by worldly dust.
> 
> Three times the bell tolls echoes like a wave.  
> We see heaven upside-down in sad puddles.
> 
> Love's vast sea cannot be emptied.  
> And springs of grace flow easily everywhere.
> 
> Where is nirvana?  
> Nirvana is here, nine times out of ten.


End file.
